Don't Mind My Nerve
by SimpleTune
Summary: AU based on the Grimm brothers' fairy tale "The Clever Farmer's Daughter". King!Blaine/Peasant!Kurt.


Once there was a boy named Kurt, and all that he wanted from the world was to be loved. Which was a good thing, because he and his father had not a cent to their name. His father loved Kurt very much, but felt terrible that he couldn't support their little family. One day Kurt, who loved his father as well, suggested that they try to gain audience with the king and ask for him to grant them a plot of land.

And grant it he did. Kurt, the boy, tried not to notice the king's eyes on him when he held the audience. He knew he looked different from most peasants, pale where the rest had tanned in the sun and more tall and gangly than stocky and strong, but the king stared as if he were marvelling at Kurt's freakishness. The king, on the other hand, was beautiful. It was easy to see why he could have any maid or man he wanted, with his chiseled features and liquid, piercing eyes. He looked more like a commoner than Kurt did, with his tanned skin and the muscles that were visible through his thin cotton shirt and leather pants. Kurt flushed when his father had to elbow him in the side to remind him to bow when the audience was over. Kurt supposed the king could gawk at whomever he liked, but that didn't mean Kurt had to enjoy being subjected to such humiliation.

But Kurt and his father never had to take an audience with the king again, and lived quite peacefully tending their farm. One day, Kurt's hoe hit the ground with an enormous _clank!_ There was something buried in the ground. He dropped to his knees and began digging to reveal a golden mortar. "Father!" he cried. "Come quick!"

His father raced over to him. "Look at that, son! You must be good luck," the father laughed. "But it is only fair, since this plot of land was graciously given to us by the king, that we give this treasure to him. Did you find the pestle with it?"

"No, Father," Kurt said.

"Well, no matter," said his father. "We'll give the mortar to the king anyway. Just think what he'll say when he sees it!"

"I don't think we should," said Kurt. "Maybe we should keep the mortar until we find the pestle. I'm not sure the king will be as…understanding as you think." Kurt, of course, knew it was wrong to judge people from first encounters. But he couldn't help feeling that the king did not give them land entirely out of generosity.

"Let me think about it, son," said Kurt's father, and he brought the golden mortar back inside. But the next day, when Kurt was working in the fields again, his father walked to the castle and presented the mortar to the king. The king inspected it, saying, "I am very grateful for this gift, peasant. Many would not be so honest as to give it to me. But tell me, did you find anything else? Where is the pestle?"

"I don't know, Your Majesty. We didn't find it."

"Really?" The king raised an eyebrow. "Then where is your son?"

The poor farmer knelt, unsure. "Why, at home, Your Majesty."

The king shook his head. "How do I know he is not in the market selling the pestle? Without him here, I have reason to doubt your honesty."

"Please, King, I am nothing but a poor man," the farmer said. "And I may not be learned, but I know the difference between right and wrong. I am no thief."

The king seemed to mull this over for a moment, but then waved his hand in dismissal. "Guards. Arrest this man. And find his son."

The guards did so, not listening to the farmer's cries of "Oh! I should have listened! I should have listened to my son." He continued to bemoan this, even when the king came to visit him in his cell hours later.

"Your son predicted this?" the king asked.

Kurt's father nodded. The king grew still and quiet for a moment, and then swept out with his royal guard. At home, Kurt, having heard from a milkmaid where his father was, wept over losing his father, whom he cherished more than anything in the world.

At dawn, the soldiers found him. They brought him to the castle, and though Kurt normally would have screamed and fought, he kept silent for his father's sake. He was brought before the king. This time, the guards left them alone in the marble room. Kurt glared at the man across from him.

"What do you want, Kurt, Burt's son?" When Kurt was not forthcoming with his answer, the king demanded, "Tell me."

Kurt swallowed. "I want you to set my father free, _King_." He clenched his fists, wishing that this power would not go to such an unjust and loathsome man.

"I will – tell me, Kurt, what do you think of me?" Kurt expected to find slyness in those peering eyes, but found only genuine inquisitiveness.

"Sir?"

The king cleared his throat and shifted in his chair. "When I see you, Kurt, I see a clever man who will stop at nothing for love. I see someone desirable in the best ways." Kurt's brow furrows in confusion. "What do you see when you look at me?"

Kurt isn't sure how to respond. "I see…a leader of men. A ruler, but not a tyrant."

"I see." The king's face falls.

Kurt doesn't want to displease the king, so he adds, "But I also see where the line is drawn between the ruler and the man."

"Thank you, Kurt," says the king. "For being honest. Now, I will set your father free, but he will still owe me a debt for the land. For the rest of his life, probably, unless he can make a larger profit on the fruits and wheat you are growing there now. However," he said, leaning forward in his chair, "there is an easy way to remedy this issue for your father. If you agree, I will give you a riddle. If you are as clever as you seem and you solve this riddle, I will marry you and all of your father's debts will be forgiven. He will live in splendor, as will you." The king's voice drops practically to a whisper. "I will make sure that you will want for nothing."

Kurt shivers. He can't say that he's never imagined that. Living in the palace instead of scrounging to make ends meet, able to read and dance and enjoy himself instead of working in the fields all day, and being…wanted. But he can't imagine being wanted by this man.

The king tapped his foot on the marble floor, making echoes in the otherwise still room. And Kurt thought of his father, all alone in a cold, dank cell…

"All right," he finally said. "What's the riddle?"

"I want you to come to me not dressed, not naked; not riding by carriage or by horse, on the road, but off the road. When you do that, I will marry you."

So Kurt went home and thought. He went to bed still thinking of the riddle, and when he woke up the next morning he had the solution. He took off all his clothes, so he was not dressed, but wrapped himself in a fishing net, so he was not naked. He borrowed a donkey from the milkmaid and rode it to the palace with his toes dragging on the ground, so he was neither on the road nor off the road. When the king saw that he had solved the riddle, he was escorted into the palace and clothed in fine garb and then Kurt and the king were married. Kurt's father was there, crying joyous tears. And when Kurt and his father stepped aside after the ceremony, Kurt was crying as well, albeit for entirely different reasons. He was scared to abandon his former life. He was scared to be trapped in the palace. And he was scared to be married to a man he barely knew, who had shown him very little kindness. His father comforted him, telling him about how love can grow even when there is none to begin with. "Son," he whispered conspiratorially, "He might surprise you." The poor farmer winked at his son and then pulled him into a tight embrace. Kurt squeezed his eyes shut, hoping desperately that his father was right. Someone cleared his throat behind them. The two broke apart. The king was there, holding out his hand.

"Our first dance," he said. He bowed. Kurt took the proffered hand and the musicians started playing. The king led them into a formal waltz. Kurt glanced around at the guests, the room, his shoes – anywhere but into his new husband's eyes.

"Kurt," the king murmured, "Look at me."

Reluctantly, Kurt looked up.

"Is this really so terrible for you?"

"Yes," Kurt muttered bitterly. He didn't feel like expounding further.

The king looked sad. "I thought this was what you wanted."

"How could you know what I wanted?" Kurt hissed. "You don't know me. And you didn't offer me much choice."

The king sighed. Kurt was surprised, he sounded genuinely heartbroken. "I'm sorry," was all he said, in a small voice, before bowing curtly and walking swiftly out of the ballroom. The courtiers began tittering behind their fans as soon as he left. Kurt could feel them staring at him and he flushed before following his new husband.

He found the king in a small room off of the grand hallway probably meant to be servants' quarters, sitting in a dusty corner, crying. There seemed to be a lot of that at this wedding. Kurt was so utterly confused and yet couldn't help but feel sympathy. He knelt down next to the king, placing a gentle hand on his knee. The king looked up and when he saw Kurt, his face crumpled into a sob. He buried his face in his hands.

"Why are you sorry?" Kurt asked softly.

The king tried to wipe his face. "I've been selfish. Kings aren't supposed to do that." He looked straight into Kurt's eyes. "I had no right to you, and yet I reached out and took you anyway. Simply because I could. Now you're away from your father and married to me – and I knew it wasn't what you wanted. I let myself believe you would adjust, maybe even fall – maybe even – maybe – " he let out a shuddering sigh. "I don't know." He drew his knees closer to his body. "I should have let you go. Now it's too late and you're trapped." He put a hand on top of Kurt's. "That's why I'm sorry. So very sorry."

A thrill zipped through Kurt at the contact. Only one thing ran through his mind. "Why did you want me if you knew it would cause you this grief?"

The king looked sadly at Kurt and then placed a hand on his face, rubbing his thumb gently over Kurt's cheekbone. "Kurt – can't you see?" he sighs. "You're beautiful."

Kurt mulled that over for a moment. It was what he always wanted, wasn't it? Someone to care about him. There was a hole his father could not fill. The other half that Kurt longed for was right here. As he looked at the man before him, he saw nothing of the cruel king in him. He saw only a once-great ruler fallen from grace, one who saw the error of his ways moments too late. One who perhaps needed Kurt to care for him more than Kurt needed his care. One who, with Kurt's help, could surely become the good man he was trying so hard to be.

One who loved Kurt.

Kurt leaned in and pressed his lips to the king's forehead, hoping to smooth the wrinkles there. At the gesture of caring, the king smiled, weaving his fingers through Kurt's. Kurt smiled back.

"Your Highness – " a servant stood in the doorway and found Kurt and the king staring into each other's eyes. He cleared his throat. "Uh – the guests are starting to wonder where you are, sir."

"I'll take care of it, thank you," the king said, not taking his eyes off of Kurt. He stood up slowly and then offered a hand to Kurt, who took it. "We should be getting back to our wedding celebration," he intoned, looking at Kurt with smiling eyes.

"I – I don't even know your name," Kurt said, his cheeks flushing.

The king's eyes filled with sadness and shame once more. "Blaine," he said quietly. He said nothing more as he held out his arm for Kurt to take and they walked back into the ballroom, to finish their first dance as husbands.

…

Hours later, they were in the royal chambers and the sun was setting. The king edged some scattered papers out of the way with his foot, apologizing for the mess, but Kurt immediately went to the window and gazed out on the slowly darkening royal courtyard. "It's so gorgeous," he breathed.

His husband had joined him at the window, but he was enjoying a different view. "I was thinking the same thing." Kurt looked over at him and blushed, dropping his gaze.

"King – " he started, but Blaine cut him off.

"Blaine. Please. Besides, you're king too." He tapped his fingers against the windowsill. "Once people start calling you that, you'll hate it too."

Kurt's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Do you hate it? Why?"

"It's an almost constant reminder of the expectations I have to live up to. My father's. My grandfather's. I'm all too aware of what it means to be ruler of this kingdom. I don't want everyone to have to kowtow to me, but it's what's expected."

Kurt mused on this for a moment. "If you could become a commoner – if you could lose everything you have and become no one – would you?"

Blaine looked out on the courtyard. "It's what I've been dreaming of." He blushed and his fist clenched on the windowsill. "I don't think I would do it, though, even if I could. I just don't have the courage." He sighed. "I'm sorry, what were you going to say before?"

Kurt couldn't help but feel his heart break a little. He looked back out the window. "I was going to ask – do you love me?"

Blaine took a deep breath. "Yes. Kurt, I think I do. I think ever since you stepped into my throne room." He placed a finger on Kurt's chin, turning his head to look at Blaine. "But I ask nothing of you. Spurn me, scorn me. You don't have to love me back. I don't ask that of you, even if I am your king."

"I'm not going to spurn you," Kurt laughed quietly.

"And why not?" Blaine asked, dropping his hand to the side. "Isn't that what I deserve?"

Kurt shook his head. "No." He reached out to grasp Blaine's hand. "I think…were I in your position, I would have done the same thing. You're not the only one who would leap at a chance for love."

Blaine took that in for a moment. "Kurt, I don't understand how you can ever forgive me, let alone love me."

"I can't explain why you started loving me in the throne room, but you did."

"But – I – I don't deserve you." Blaine stuttered.

"Maybe you should stop thinking so hard about what you deserve, and start thinking about what you have." Kurt leaned forward and pressed his lips against the other man's. Blaine at first seemed surprised, but then kissed him back sweetly. Kurt sighed against his husband's lips, feeling warmth spreading to the tips of his toes. Blaine curled his fingers into Kurt's. Their foreheads pressed together, both of them smiling.

They spent the night whispering to each other as the stars came out one by one, Blaine finally falling asleep in the crook of Kurt's shoulder. Kurt pressed a kiss to the top of his husband's head. And then he grinned, because his father had been right, as always.

…

The next morning they were awoken by servants ready to clothe them and to ready them for a day of ruling the kingdom. Blaine was informed that there were two farmers having a disagreement in the throne room over the ownership of a foal. One farmer owned a mare that had given birth to the foal, but the foal had run away to lie between the other farmer's two oxen. Blaine was expected to make a decision about this.

"Uh…just tell them that wherever the foal chose to lie, there it should stay." The servants nodded and left Kurt and Blaine to the rest of their morning ablutions. Blaine caught Kurt's glare. "What?"

"I thought you cared about the common people."

"I do!" Blaine threw up his hands in defense. "Kurt, I do."

"Yes, clearly you cared so much about making that decision," Kurt sniffed.

"Kurt, I don't know anything about the common people," Blaine sighed. "I'm being forced to make a decision I'm not qualified to make."

"And it was a just and wise decision, my lord," Kurt snapped sarcastically. He bowed mockingly and left the room.

A moment later, he felt terrible. But he stood by what he said. And it ate away at him, the way those farmers were treated. He'd seen too many people lose important possessions over silly altercations with the law. Suddenly, he had an idea. He found a servant and asked to be taken to the farmer with the rightful claim to the foal.

"I can help you," he told the farmer, "But you must tell no one." The farmer agreed. "Here's what you have to do: go to the palace road that the king rides in the morning. Bring an empty fishing net and pretend to fish with it in the middle of the road. When the king questions you, answer, 'If two oxen can give birth to a foal, then I can catch a fish on dry land.' He will return your foal." The new king left before the farmer could say goodbye.

…

That night, the door to the royal quarters swung open. Kurt looked up.

"What have you done?" Blaine asked, his voice even but with something boiling behind it.

"Nothing, husband," Kurt returned, his voice much the same. "I waited for you to finish your _very_ important work."

Blaine rubbed his eyes. "I know it was you, Kurt. That farmer was not clever enough to come up with that retort."

"So what if it was me?" Kurt challenged. "I'm just as much a king as you are."

"Not anymore," said Blaine, and he smiled sadly. "Anyone not of noble birth cannot meddle in official decrees. I wouldn't tell, but…" He shook his head. "The council knows, too." He sighed heavily, a tear slipping down his cheek. "Kurt, you are banished."

Kurt breathed in sharply. "B-banished?"

Tears began falling from Blaine's eyes faster. "You have no idea how it saddens me to see you go. After everything." He strode across the room and knelt where Kurt was sitting, grasping at his hand. "I love you, Kurt. Please, take from this castle what you most treasure…as a keepsake." He pressed his lips to Kurt's cheek and then left the room. Kurt felt his absence like a piece of him being torn away. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. He would think of something. He always did.

…

The next time Kurt and Blaine saw each other, Kurt was about to leave. He had prepared special drinks for himself and his husband. He had sent a servant to fetch Blaine and requested that all others leave them in peace.

Blaine walked through the door on the verge of tears. Kurt rushed over to him and held him close. Hot tears bled through Kurt's shirt. But Blaine was a king, and even if a king cries often, he does not let himself cry for too long.

"Come, husband," Kurt said. "Let's drink to my parting."

….

When Blaine woke up, he was in a simple cottage with a thatched roof. Light shone through the window, illuminating his bed.

When he stirred, a voice in the corner spoke. "Ah! Blaine! Awake at last." Kurt, joyful as he'd ever seen, came into his field of vision.

"K-Kurt?" Blaine asked, confused. His eyes widened. "Kurt!" He embraced Kurt, holding him tightly. "What am I doing here?" He looked around. "Where are we?"

"Blaine. You ordered me to take the thing I most treasured from the castle. That, dear husband, is you."

And Kurt bestowed a kiss upon Blaine's lips unlike any that Blaine had ever felt, and smiled a smile that Blaine hoped he could see every day for eternity.

.


End file.
